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Connor didn’t want to do this anymore.
The injuries, the lost time, the hate, the critiques, the idea that he’s just a flunk pick. A nobody who didn’t belong here and should have never made it this far. A useless injury-ridden burden who only knew how to break his shoulders and get tousled by the other guys.
He was sick of it all, but there was no leaving now. Not after all those years of practice and all that money his parents spent to get him here. If he quit now, then their efforts would be in vain and his place as an undeserving pick who simply got in on pure luck would be solidified. He wasn’t going to vindicate the thousands of accounts online calling for him to be traded or the endless rumors about him only getting in because his mother slept around.
No.
He wouldn’t let them be right. He fought too hard to let them win. Too hard to let his parents’ time and money go to waste. Too hard to give the angry mob what they wanted- but not enough to keep the bottle on the shelf.
Connor felt his eyes get wet again as he took another long swig from the half empty bottle of grey goose.
He couldn’t even keep his shoulders in place, how on earth is he supposed to take his team to victory? Hell, he could barely practice or play now that he has been benched yet again for another injury. Connor couldn’t stand it anymore. Losing opportunity after opportunity seeing the world pass him by and celebrate wins from Celebrini and Smith while poor old Bedsy lagged so far behind that fans forgot he even existed.
Connor lifted the bottle up to his lips again.
The alcohol wouldn’t help him recover faster, and it barely numbed the pain of being replaced and forgotten anymore. That’s why he was here drinking cheap trash straight from the bottle. Because while the world moves on and recognizes talent like Celebrini, trash like Bedard gets left behind. Nothing personal, just the way the world works.
Why even bother?
It’s clear he wasn’t cut out for the world of professional hockey. He plays a game or two then boom, injury. He gets ambitious for an Olympic role, then boom, Celebrini gets the pick. He aims a little lower, just takes a shot at the IIHF, then Celebrini strikes again. God did he hate that guy. Just a more talented version of Bedard. That's what everyone online says anyways. Worthy of every second of Crosby’s attention, unlike sick old Bedard.
Sick Bedard. Second pick Bedard.
The bottle went up again and again until Connor’s body couldn’t take the copious amounts of straight vodka and simply gave out.